


In My Darkest Hour

by elceri



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Incest, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-18 23:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/566279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elceri/pseuds/elceri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Éomer and Éowyn prepare for the long road ahead of them as war looms imminent in Rohan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Darkest Hour

**Author's Note:**

> First published in 2002 under a different pseudonym that I can no longer use. The work is mine, and if there are questions, please contact me.
> 
> Lyrics at the beginning are to the song "Darkest Hour" by Glen Phillips

_If I lose my faith  
Just remind me,   
just remind me   
When my shadow's longer   
Stay beside me till it's brighter   
How easy I forget   
How beautiful to see you once again_

_In my darkest hour I will be freed..._

She fears a cage, more than anything. She dreams of them sometimes, he knows, of shackles and bars, cold and constraining. They will wake her in the middle of the night, head spinning with fright as her senses spin in the dark room. Then the solid arms, muscular, warm, yielding and protective circle her, urging her back down to comfort her. She rests her head against his bare chest, listening to his heart and lightly stroking her fingers over his belly. His breathing is slow, that of sleep, but his eyes are open, watching her with concern.

So cold, so cold. he thinks as he gazes down at her, watching her golden hair fall across his chest as she attempts to settle back into sleep. She fears being caged, a prison imposed upon her. She does not see that she is slowly building her own cage. She does not see that she only allows herself freedom in his arms. Yet, even that freedom is slowly confining them. Theodred would have taken her as wife, and then there would have been no threat to her freedom, nor this special thing which they shared. Now, as Theodred's life hangs by a mere thread, her future is uncertain, as is his. At the moment, what they hold in each other's arms is the only certainty.

He had come to her earlier in the evening, after bringing the wounded Theodred from the field. He had not seen her since his return, and he had grown concerned, because word of Theodred's condition had spread so quickly around the castle. It angered him that he had not been able to tell Éowyn himself about the condition of their beloved cousin. He only supposed she had heard it from some other, more unkind, source, since she had vanished from sight and had not been seen. His worry finally overwhelmed his need to respect her privacy, and he had sought her out in her chambers.

"Éowyn?"

No response came from within the darkened room, yet some subconscious force whose sole power was to track siblings spoke in the back of the Éomer 's mind, telling him that the room was not unoccupied.

"Éowyn, it is your brother, and I come alone," he entreated, pushing the door open a bit and slipping in. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out a shadowy form sitting huddled in a chair, in the corner of the room. His vision grew clearer, and it seemed to his eyes that the form trembled. "Do not hide from me, dearest," he said, approaching slowly, wary of what state of mind had befallen his normally stoic sister to make her act thusly.

A corner of the dark cloak that swaddled the form fell, revealing skin so pale it caught the dim moonlight seeping in through the shutter and glowed, tear tracks glimmering like streams of silver. "It does me no good to hide, I fear," Éowyn sighed, dropping the cloak completely and turning her gaze to her brother. Her face shown, like a lily kissed with dew for the tears clinging to her skin, and it broke Éomer's heart to see her so.

"Why do you do this, then?" Éomer asked, moving to one knee and taking one of Éowyn's cold hands between his own, in an attempt to warm her. "Why distress yourself over what you cannot change?"

"What would you have me do then?" Éowyn asked, her voice catching and causing her to flinch at the sharpness she heard from her own lips. "Embrace Womtongue and his treachery? Turn my back to our uncle? Smother what breath Theodred fights for from his body? It is hopeless, my brother, hopeless."

"Fell times have come upon Rohan, sweet sister," Éomer said, bringing her hand to his lips and pressing them to her cold fingers. "And I fear the night will grow darker before light comes once more."

"Who is to say light will ever come again?" Éowyn whispered, reaching her other hand out to touch her brother's hair, gazing upon him.

"I see light now," Éomer replied, using his other hand to stroke her cheek. "And you should keep the light of hope in your eyes, and that will see you through the darkness that is yet to come." He sighed and swallowed, averting his gaze for a moment.

"Brother? What secret do you hold from me?" Éowyn whispered, pulling her fingers from his grip and grabbing his wrist.

"No secret, Éowyn." Éomer pulled his wrist away. "I am not privy to this knowledge, only suspect. Your mind does not need to be troubled further than it already is."

"The only thing that troubles me is not knowing!" Éowyn replied, tears threatening to spill once more. "Please, Éomer, if you love me, speak to me."

"You know I love you, more than I love all things," Éomer replied heatedly, cupping her face with his hands.

"Those words are no comfort to me," Éowyn replied, looking away once more.

"Then what words will comfort you?" Éomer asked, voice desperately tight with frustration.

"Tell me that you love Rohan above all things, for it needs your love right now more than I."

"Then so be it," Éomer said, and after a moment's hesitation, "But it is through my love for Rohan that I fear our darkest hour may come."

"How so?" Éowyn's eyes glittered in the dim light, and Éomer could see anxiety on her features. It looked unnatural upon her.

"My objections to Wormtongue's position and advice to our King have drawn his ire, and soon his control over His Majesty will be so that he can do with me as he wishes," Éomer replied, leaning over and pressing his forehead to his sister's.

"Éomer! The last thing Rohan needs at this time is a martyr!" Éowyn recoiled from him in horror.

"I would rather be a martyr than a hypocrite," Éomer said, trying to pull her close again, his eyes blazing with fury. "Surely you can respect that."

Éowyn turned her face away silently, chest heaving as conflicting emotions roiled within her. Éomer moved to try to face her, whispering cajolingly, "It will not come to that, my sister, I promise you. My willingness to make the sacrifice does not mean I invite it, or would accept it willingly."

"So said Theodred," Éowyn said to the shadows, and Éomer reached over, gripping her chin and turning her face toward him with some force, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"I am not Theodred." He made sure to enunciate each word, before releasing her to rub her chin with a wince and a rueful look.

"Then why do you come to me? To prophesy your own death? I am not accustomed to such ominous words from you, brother."

"I come to you for strength, Éowyn," Éomer replied, rising to his feet and stepping backward, looking down at his sister. "Dark have been my days and nights, and dark will they be, and you have been my only light. If I am never to see you again, by that villain's hand, then I want to carry some of that light with me to whatever end may come."

A strangled cry of pain wrenched from Éowyn at those words, and she rose to her feet, dropping the cloak she had worn around her shoulders and revealing her light sleeping gown, the material as pale and luminescent as her skin. Her shoulders were bare, and they invited Éomer's hands to cover them, stroking her collarbones with his thumbs.

Éowyn's eyes drifted closed at the touch of her brother's rough fingers to her soft skin, and she ran her fingers down his arms, reaching his tunic and searching for the ties. "At our parents' deaths, during times of greatest fear and doubt," Éowyn whispered, slowly unfastening his tunic, "we have taken both comfort and strength from each other."

"And also in times of good," Éomer was quick to remind her, memories of long rides to the countryside, picnics near distant streams, and long nights laying together gazing up at the stars warming his soul, which had borne the cold weight of worry for too long.

Éowyn nodded, pausing from her work at his many fastenings to take hold of his collar and urge him closer, seeking out the ultimate comfort of his mouth on hers, slipping her arms around his neck to hold him there as their lips met, then parted, then met again. Éomer wrapped his arms around his sister, stroking her back slowly yet firmly, determined to coax warmth back into her as well.

They kissed desperately, the light of the moon changing as it moved across the window during the long minutes. Eventually they ceased to cling to each other, and the kisses took on less urgency, instead becoming reverent, passionate, and loving, leaving Éomer's lips throbbing and tingling. It was only then that Éomer felt satisfied enough to pull away and draw her to the bed, sitting down and urging her to do the same. Éowyn smiled, pausing near the bedside, gazing down at his reclining form with a quivering, but knowing smile. Her hands then went to the ties of her gown, drawing them and letting it slip from her shoulders, until she stood fully bare and revealed to him.

Éomer swallowed, nearly undone by the sight. His time with her was precious, and it had been very limited since the forces of Sauron had begun to amass. Now, every time he seemed like the first time all over again. "Beautiful Éowyn," he whispered reverently, holding his hands out to her. She took them, gracefully climbing into bed, the muscles of her arms and legs tensing and flexing in the dim light and showing the power that lay beneath the satiny pale skin and soft curves, gained from hours of sword practice and horseback riding together. Such a duality was part of what Éomer found most attractive about his sister, and was why he could not bear to look upon any other in the same way. None could compare to her.

"You have me at a disadvantage, my love," Éowyn whispered, and the throatiness with which her words came forth served only to make Éomer's arousal grow even harder. He lay back passively and allowed Éowyn one of the pleasures she always enjoyed-undressing him. She was very efficient, and knew her way around a soldier's clothing after years of experience-even when he was in full armor she could have him bare in a matter of minutes.

Tonight she was not in such a hurry though, and she took her time, her fingers slipping beneath cloth to tease and touch his skin, her mouth not far behind. It was the memory of moments like this that kept Éomer warm during long, cold, lonely rides out to the very borders of Rohan, and the thought of returning for more urged him on when he was at his lowest.

They had always been generous with their affection toward each other, and this night was no different. At first they practiced careful restraint, teasing, caressing, and worshipping each other until they could no longer bear it and finally gave their all to their passion to the point of exhaustion. Éomer memorized every sound, every feel, and every taste for the indefinite lonely days ahead, wanting to have no regrets when the morning came and their world was ripped from them; when they would be ripped from each other.

Eventually they had given into slumber, skin damp and sticky, weak limbs tangled together. Éomer could not sleep for long, however, and he awakened long before dawn had begun to fade the night sky. He lay awake and gently stroked Éowyn's hair, memorizing its texture and weight between his fingers as he attempted to reassure himself that she would be all right. She, after all, was his sister, daughter of Éomund and a shield maiden of Rohan. She was strong, and she would survive. He had to believe this, or else to him there would be no reason to face the morning, and no reason to defy Wormtongue and risk his very life. He intended to flee Rohan if he was indeed condemned to death, but death would be welcome if his sister surrendered and met the same fate.

As the minutes passed, and Éowyn shifted comfortably against him, his thoughts turned to the future, and what should happen when-he had to think of it as when, and not if-they made it through the dark days and returned to each other. What would they return to? Éowyn had so often spoken of being trapped in a cage, yet Éomer wondered if they had slowly built a cage for themselves. They had no true future together now; their uncle refused to allow them to marry each other because he wanted to strengthen and expand Rohan's alliances through marriage, and Theodred would likely not last the night. What was left for them then, beyond this night? It broke Éomer's heart to think thusly, and he could not decide if being alone with such thoughts was worse than sharing them with Éowyn, or not. He was not left to ponder this for long, because a stirring at his side told him he was no longer alone.

"Why do you not sleep? You need your rest," Éowyn murmured, her breath caressing his chest and her fingers curling languidly against his belly.

"My thoughts do not allow me rest this night," Éomer replied, smiling down at her, knowing that such an answer would not satisfy her. She was not only his sister, friend, and lover, but also his closest advisor, and he could keep no secret from her, no matter how painful it was.

"Then allow me to take some of their burden from you, so you might still sleep before dawn comes," Éowyn propped herself up on her elbow, gazing down into his eyes, and Éomer felt his heart swell all over again. A selfish voice deep within coaxed him to take Éowyn and ride out that night, far away where war, nor sorcerer, nor Man could keep them apart. Such thoughts were treason, though, both to his people and to himself and his sister, and he quickly quelled them.

"I find my thoughts wandering to the future, to the end of this war, and what awaits us then," Éomer confessed, sliding his hand down to his belly and threading his fingers through hers. "Things have changed, and are still changing so quickly that I do not know any more what to think."

Éowyn remained silent, although her eyes had again slipped closed. Éomer knew she was not asleep, though, because her lips pursed and relaxed as they did when she was in thought. Finally she spoke, although she did not yet open her eyes. "Much has changed in our lives, and as of late much has changed in Rohan. Yet, we have not changed. This," she squeezed his hand, holding it up in the waning moonlight, "has not changed. You still make me laugh, and draw me from my thoughts when they threaten to overwhelm me. You are warm, and alive, and dance like flames on an open fire, and make me see things in different ways. You are my perfect foil, my love, my other half, and where I am weak, you are strong."

Éomer felt a shiver course up his spine at her words. He knew their truth, although never had it been put so poetically to him. He was not a master of words like his sister. "And you are my strength," he whispered, voice choked. "It is that strength which will keep us free, no matter what may happen to try to imprison us and keep us apart," he then declared, trying to draw courage from his own words.

Éowyn nodded, laying her head against his shoulder. "Sometimes I feel that what we have is too perfect," she began softly, voice belying a bit of hesitation at giving breath to her own misgivings despite her staunch defense of their love. "I often feel a foreboding that something will come to destroy it all for us, and leave us with nothing. Is this it, Éomer? Will this be our end?"

"You have said it yourself: no; there will be no end to us," Éomer told her firmly, brushing his cheek against hers. "But I will answer your fear thusly: I do not believe in perfection, Éowyn. We are all flawed; you, I, and our love itself. The world is flawed, and therefore you do not need to fear our ruin. If we are torn asunder in the morning's light, then we will come together again, and then if we are torn apart again by our lot in life, we will still come to each other. If we make this vow, Éowyn, it is as binding as we wish it to be, more binding than marriage if we say it." He sat up to his knees, drawing her with him as the gray light of dawn began to clear into morning.

"Then I will make a vow to you, my brother, to hold true to you and to our love and not turn from it," Éowyn whispered, clasping both of Éomer's hands in her own and gazing into his eyes. Tears shimmered in her eyes, and Éomer swallowed down his own.

"I make the same vow to you, my sister, my faithfulness to you above all people." He remembered her entreaty to him to love Rohan first, and he intended to keep it even with this most fervent vow. "It is in the light of this vow that we go forward into the days ahead, and keep faith in it as long as we both live."

"As long as we both live," Éowyn echoed in a whisper, leaning forward and kissing his lips to seal the vow, then bending to press her lips to his chest above where his heart beat, holding them there for several moments before turning her face to him once more.

Éomer crushed her body to his when she rose, holding her one last time, as the birds began to come alive in the trees outside, signaling the start of the day. "The light comes, even when the dark night is riddled with doubt," he whispered against her hair, before releasing her to dress. He silently prepared himself to confront Wormtongue and for the consequences certain to follow as he dressed, then walked to the door, holding his hands out to Éowyn to draw her in for one last kiss.

It was light and fleeting, but it still brought a smile to both of their faces, which made him glad. He knew their darkest hour was yet to come, but as always, Éowyn would be his light.


End file.
